It's been more than four hours and Malfoy is still here. I didn't expect him to stay. After all these years, I still don't understand how I come to find myself in such bizarre situations. If anybody crossed the door right now, they would immediately turn back and walk out. Everyone knows how Malfoy and I are dangerously explosive in the vicinity of each other. Against all odds, nothing has been destroyed, no house's battle engaged, no vicious spell thrown. We didn't even tear each other's throat yet. "But, after all, what would be your life without a bit of madness?", questions me a warm manly voice.
I remained alert during those long hours, forcing myself to look relaxed. My gaze trained on the rich nature outside the window, all my senses focused on detecting any oddities that might happen. Life has taught me that you never know what could occur. Malfoy didn't even look a little baffled when an embarrassing silence arose after my proposition. The first thing he did was to grab an old book in the magically-enlarged inside pocket of his jacket. He calmly rested his back in the space near the window, crossed his feet on the seater bench, and began to read. The cover is coloured in a creamy beige and when the autumn sunlight hit the inside of our cab, it reflects a light shade of blue. I hear it murmuring sweet incentives to me, urging me to read it. I know it's only the magic soaking its pages, but it sure is still an unsettling sensation. No title or author are mentioned. Actually, apart from its colour and tempting magic, I couldn't discover anything about it, even when my intrigued magic scanned it. Some times passed, and the snoring rhythm of the train's engine added the sound of pages delicately turned are the only things disturbing the tranquillity. "Yes, it is quite peaceful", I surprise myself thinking as I lazily close my eyes.
How I miss the train ride to Hogwarts. Wild forests, mysterious foggy plains, a shimmery river. The speed of the ancient machine, eating the miles away. The journey in itself had always been a sort of ritual of mine to enter the magical world. The world I belonged in. Generally, it was also the time I reconnected with my friends. It was my freedom, the moment I felt safe and surrounded by loving people. I remember the grogginess after eating too much sweets. The tears in the corner of my eyes because we laughed too hard. The frivolous discussions shared in the privacy of the cab. But every year, this freedom had been bit by bit taken away from me. Before I realised, the ride only meant blood, darkness and fear.
Still, here I am, hours later and sitting in the same position. My muscles were furiously aching before because of the strict control I exert on my magic, but the discomfort faded away. All I know is that since my discussion with Malfoy, it marginally settled down. Usually, it reacts to the most trivial things. But now, I hear it in the back of my brain, purring like a big satisfied feline. Of course, my emotions are still there, boiling under the surface. I just tightly keep them under control, it seems enough for my magic right now. With this thought in mind, I reopen my eyes and forget how to breath for a short time.
Malfoy is asleep, arms crossed behind his head, his long and slender body taking the entire bench. The book stands forgotten on the train's table. Soft breaths coming out of his faintly opened mouth, he looks so peaceful. Unintentionally, my eyes scrutinize his silhouette. The war has changed us all, he's the living proof of it. When once his immaculate blonde hair was long and perfectly sleeked back, they're short on the side now and long strands hide his gaze from anyone's sight. His features are no longer on the verge of adulthood, he's a man. Chiselled and refined. A rich dark grey-toned suit tastefully adorns his body. His complexion glows faintly in the bleak light of the compartment, skin white as a pearl. Others might look hopeless and worn-out after everything that happened to Malfoy, but he doesn't. It's as if his beauty had blossomed in the middle of danger, making it even more striking. "Another thing you lack", I muse. I know I look like a sombre, weary, depressed version of myself at the moment. I look like shit.
I wonder what happened to him after the battle. When everything was done and everyone wanted to rejoice, I secluded myself in a newly discovered Potter Estate in rural Italy. It's only a week ago that Hermione succeeded to contact me. Thanks to Creature, who would have thought? She ordered me to stop screwing myself up. And I don't know how, but she managed to convince me to come back to Hogwarts for this eighth year. Looking back to Malfoy, I wonder who convinced him. The last thing I remember about him was to send magically sealed and protected copies of souvenirs for his trial and Narcissa's. In a disconnected haze, I'd assumed it would be enough for the Wizengamot to dismiss all important charges. I didn't lose time dithering on Malfoy Father's case. I owed nothing to Lucius.
Malfoy's earlier gratitude was sincere, I felt it. My magic is never wrong. Reminiscing the moment, an image flashes before my eyes. Malfoy gasping and looking up intently at me. Did he feel the probing of my magic? Normally, people are totally unaware of this special trick of mine. But why would he seem so affected, when he's always cool and collected?
Right now, I don't know how to feel about Malfoy. Especially a Malfoy drowsing off in the same place I find myself. Is he so arrogant that he believes he's safe in my presence? Maybe he's actually exhausted? There's no way in hell he would otherwise be so unguarded in front of me. Does he trust me while he sleeps? All those questions are bringing me a headache. I realise suddenly that the train is slowly coming to a halt. Soon enough, it stops. But Malfoy doesn't seem to wake. "Shit", I grumble after some excruciating seconds. I cross the space between us and lean my chest above him. Left hand pressed against the compartment's wall, right one resting on the table, I sigh. At this distance, I can smell his perfume. "Of course the stupid prick would wear expensive perfume", I add to my sullen thoughts.
"Malfoy", I whisper. "Malfoy!", a little bit louder. As I see his mercurial gaze sleepily assessing his situation, taking his god damn time by the way, I add; "Wake up. You don't want to get stuck on the train, do you?"